


swallow my doubt, turn it inside out (beautiful oblivion)

by AlexSeanchai (EllieMurasaki)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Drama & Romance, Episode: s03 Oblivio, F/M, Hospitalization, Identity Reveal, Memory Loss, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Tense, Podfic Welcome, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-02-09 12:57:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18638584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieMurasaki/pseuds/AlexSeanchai
Summary: Adrien wakes up in a hospital bed at 3h34 Thursday morning."What happened?" he asks the nurse. "Last I remember, my friend Marinette tripped on the stairs at school and took me down too. But that was Monday morning."Was there an akuma involved?he doesn't ask. He is used to—he hates, but he is familiar with—coming to with a new hole in his memory. But three days is an awfully big hole.Did I fight Ladybug again? Did I hurt anyone? If it was an akuma, and I'm still in the hospital after—what happened to my Lady?"Is she okay? How hard did I hit my head?"The nurse starts to quiz him, and then she pages a doctor andshestarts to quiz him, and it's well past five before anyone thinks to actuallytell Adrienthat he did not in fact hit his head and black out for three days straight.Adrien had maybe thirty minutes of experiential memory—five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear: those orders of magnitude meant that half hour must be insignificant, not worth mentioning—and Marinette wasn't there beside him. He did not know if she remembered anything between the elevator and the kiss. He did not know if she remembered anything else.





	1. watch it spin round

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Back from Oblivio concept](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/477379) by gale-of-the-nomads. 



> If you're here from the original concept post on Tumblr: please have patience, that scene will be a couple-few chapters yet. If you're here without having seen that post: please consider your fic-spoiler tolerance before clicking the Inspired By link.

Adrien wakes up in a hospital bed at, according to his phone, 3h34 Thursday morning. His ring is in the drawer of the bedside table beside his phone, and he barely needs to touch it to know it is definitely _his_ ring, not a lookalike; it has the irreplicable weight to it of _now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds_. He doesn't put it on yet, thinking it's better, for the moment, to keep it unobtrusively in reach than to risk drawing attention to it, no matter that he feels more naked for his ring's absence than for the presence of nothing but this flimsy hospital gown. He would badly like to thwack whoever took it off him, actually, but it hasn't gone _too_ far, and as he tries to slow his breathing he can sense the fluttery feeling that means Plagg is curled up snoozing while phased into the upper lobe of his right lung; Plagg spends enough time there it isn't even weird anymore.

 _Plagg's here, ring's here, Plagg's here, ring's here, Plagg's here, ring's here_ : repeating that like a litany keeps most of the panic at bay.

Only most. Okay, maybe half. The night nurse rushes past the curtain at 3h36, alerted apparently by his heart rate monitor going haywire. Adrien panics worse at the thought of medicating the panic away and (thank all Gods large and small) she doesn't push, just talks him through a breathing exercise, breathe in two three four, hold just as long, out as long again, again. Then one to ground him in the here and now: five things he sees, four he feels, three he hears, two he smells, one he tastes.

Adrien takes a long deep breath and lets it out. "What happened?" he asks, poking his phone to bring the time and date back onscreen. "Last I remember, my friend Marinette tripped on the stairs at school and took me down too."

Did he see Lila push her? He'll have to ask Plagg, and Marinette, and unfortunately but necessarily Lila, what they each did, what they saw happen. And if Lila really has escalated to violence, instead of happening to be there when Marinette's coordination glitched, then Adrien will have to…something. He doesn't know. He hopes not.

"But that was Monday morning," Adrien continues. _Was there an akuma involved?_ he doesn't ask. He is used to—he hates, but he is familiar with—coming to with a new hole in his memory. But three days is an awfully big hole. _Did I fight Ladybug again? Did I hurt anyone? If it was an akuma, and I'm still in the hospital after—what happened to my Lady?_ "Is she okay? How hard did I hit my head?"

It's a reasonable hypothesis, right? He isn't clear on how he went down, but he remembers thinking he was about to break his neck. Or skull. Or something. And blanking for days argues that his brains got shaken, if not necessarily stirred, even if his total lack of headache or any-other-ache argues otherwise.

The nurse starts to quiz him, and then she pages a doctor and _she_ starts to quiz him, and it's well past five before anyone thinks to actually _tell Adrien_ that he did not in fact hit his head and black out for three days straight.

Father doesn't come see him that morning, but Nathalie does, informing Adrien that Father already gave instructions to reduce Adrien's workload to the bare minimum during his recovery. Father himself spends ten whole minutes on the video call and promises to come in person in the evening. They talk about the tricky bit of that Rachmaninoff piece Adrien's been practicing and whether it's unseemly that Adrien wants to learn "All I Ask Of You", and the awkwardness (and the embarrassment of refusing to admit _why_ or, once Father looks up the lyrics, _who for_ ) would be a small price to pay for this even without learning how Maman liked Cinderella and the Prince's ballroom duet in the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical. Father outright cracks a smile when Adrien says "I didn't think you wanted me to join an orchestra; I'd see too much sax and violins"! And Adrien hates that this much of a break from the stress is only happening under doctor's orders. Hates that this much attention from his father is only something he's getting because he cracked his skull open. (Or whatever. The nurses are making sure Adrien is well-cared-for, not well-informed.) _Hates_ that this is all _rare_ enough for the unfamiliar emotions to creep molasses-slow over his skin, sticking to everything they touch.

And Adrien only needs to text Nino once, to cheerfully rag on him about failing the chemistry quiz Mme. Mendeleiev had told them to expect on Tuesday (not that Adrien thinks Nino did poorly, of course, but they were going to study together over voice chat Monday evening), for all his classmates to make his phone explode from the incoming text volume. (Marinette, it transpires, wasn't hurt. Some of Adrien's bruises were because she landed on him, though. He'll get to the other texts later.) Between all that and a lot of being poked, prodded, and interrogated by several confused medical professionals, he has to deal with the important stuff piecemeal in order to keep it unnoticed. So it's midafternoon before Adrien gets through everything new on the Ladyblog and everything both new and important on the TVi site.

There have been five akumas in the past three days. _Five_.

(That the public knows of, Adrien thinks bleakly, because there are a few Chat Noir knows about and Adrien does not. The only reason Puppeteer, for example, isn't one of those is Adrien was about a meter and a half from Alya when Puppeteer got hold of the Lady Wifi doll. They haven't yet been able to keep little August's akumatizations under wraps, but Manon's was subtle, and only her mother's employer caught Puppeteer herself on film.)

Rena Rouge and Carapace have been fighting by Ladybug's side. She's okay. In the video of the three of them leaving the fifth battlefield, she's slung over Carapace's shoulder looking like she could happily just nap there, and once he stopped moving, she possibly _would_ —and if Carapace and Rena weren't such outrageous flirts with each other and no one else, Adrien would be incandescent, though he's not entirely sure why, or at whom; as it is he merely sits and smolders. But as of late Wednesday night, at least, she's _okay_.

Ladybug is covering for his absence, even. Alya posted a clip to the Ladyblog after the third Chat Noir–less battle, in which Ladybug brightly tells a concerned Paris not to worry: Chat Noir is in the middle of a family emergency, and she isn't sure when he'll be back in the city and wouldn't tell them if she did. She's only saying this much because (she says) he is of the opinion that if Hawkmoth finds out one of his main targets isn't around to be baited out by akuma attacks, Hawkmoth will send out fewer akumas. Meanwhile, here's a brief review of (and, Alya has included in the transcript, a link to) the usual akuma safety plan; if anyone wants to help Chat Noir and his family, then here's a diverse list of good causes that could use contributions of money and volunteer time; and stay miraculous!

That definitely sounds like an opinion Chat Noir would have, Adrien has to admit. Or would have had, anyway, since five in three days is _ridiculous_ —like, even as much as Heroes' Day sucked? (and that was the afternoon after the totally sleepless akuma-fighting night marking one mostly sleepless week since Sandboy, and damn it, yes, it's nasty admitting Hawkmoth knows something about strategic advantage; _that sucked!_ ) now is still absolutely the most exhausted she has been since they met! no wonder she almost fell asleep on Carapace; they're lucky she stayed awake till the end of the battle!—and clearly that opinion has been proven wrong. It's a cover story Chat might think up, too. Ladybug, less so—so why did she lie?

Adrien watches the footage of the Monday noon fight for a third time, trying not to curse Marinette for a clumsy fool—she in no way deserves that, and wouldn't even if it were her fault; he's about eighty percent sure Lila tripped her, and four languages' worth of profanity isn't enough—or himself for a careless one.

Monday noon, Ladybug was fighting upset.

Monday noon, Ladybug was fighting hurt.

Monday noon, Ladybug was fighting alone.

* * *

_Monday, just past noon_

Chat Noir woke gagging: something hard down his throat—something rigid round his neck—people shouting, looming, pinning him down as he bucked and writhed for his life: someone yanked out the hard thing and grabbed his torso to turn him to the side as he retched. Just—just retching, not vomiting, but everything glared bright and flared pain and he still couldn't _fight_ these people while his body fought _him_ —

Something jabbed into his thigh: in moments calm crashed down on him, his muscles going too slack to resist his captors, or the rip current sweeping him off to sleep.

Consciousness returned slowly. "—lose Adrien too," a nearby voice was saying, quietly, as though—he?—didn't wish anyone to hear his desperation. Among the beeping and humming and bustle and chatter, possibly no one else did. "Save begging them on bended knee and losing everything else, Nathalie, what am I to do?" A brief pause. "We _knew_ Ladybug is fond of him. I haven't _used_ that, because he's my—excuse me, the nurse is coming."

Adrien—he must, he thought, _be_ Adrien at the moment; he could feel a needle in his arm, and the spot on his thigh where another had stuck him, and, well. Medical needle versus magical armor? He wouldn't bet on the needle. He fisted his right hand, thumb in, and drew the thumb out: yeah, no claws, no ring. Possibly no Plagg, though as soon as he thought that, he knew it wasn't true: something in his chest was fluttering, on the wrong side to be his heart. The familiarity of it, given both little jinnīs' ability to fly through things and their need to hide Adrien's being Chat Noir from everyone, and knowing how even with no reason Plagg remembered to stay, he hadn't left Adrien long? Yeah, Adrien's lung was probably the _perfect_ spot for a nap.

Needles and nurses and beeping monitors. Clean air, tinged with hints that their detergents and disinfectants were unscented, not odorless. A far gentler voice saying "your vital signs have all improved, Adrien." Something pressed on his breastbone, a turning motion, and since—she?—was speaking to him as though she knew he was aware anyway, he opened his eyes to see what it was; everything being painfully bright, he closed them again. "You're still deeply sedated, but it should be wearing off soon. Let's hope you don't get agitated when you wake up this time, hm?"

Hospital.

Something happened between the first burst of Miraculous Cure he could remember and the second. Chat Noir would have some trouble getting to his Lady's side the next time she needed him. It probably wouldn't be bright of Adrien to try. It might stay that way for a while.

His head contained maybe thirty minutes of experiential memory—five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear: the difference of several orders of magnitude meant that half hour must be statistically insignificant and he needed hardly mention it to anyone—and Marinette wasn't there beside him. He did not know if she remembered anything between the elevator and the kiss. He did not know if she remembered anything else.

M. Turtle had been startled to hear they both knew both their names.

Fighting enemies like Oblivio was something Ladybug and Chat Noir _did_. Often. _Together_. As far as he knew, _alone_.

Ladybug was counting on Chat Noir to help her with the next battle. She would be fighting by herself. _And she might not know it_.

She could get _hurt_ , and he wouldn't know it until too late.

Adrien surfed the adrenaline spike to wakefulness.


	2. tie me to the bedpost

_Thursday, evening_

Adrien is positively _itching_ to get out of the hospital (or, really, the curtained-off single-bed space, not that opening the curtains is an improvement) by the time the doctors throw up their hands, scribble what amounts to _Miraculous Cure is miraculous_ on his chart, and call his father—which means his father's assistant, which means his bodyguard—to take him home. (Wanting to put his ring and his jeans back on is, he admits, also a factor.) It's hours before midnight still, so Adrien hasn't concluded Father has broken another promise. Not quite.

Father does meet Adrien at the door, where he was waiting. At the _door_ , not standing intimidatingly at the top of the foyer stairs. And he _hugs_ Adrien! Of course he immediately tells Adrien that because he's no longer injured, his recovery time is no longer scheduled, but when Adrien tries not to wilt too obviously, Father relents on the extracurriculars! Getting _permission_ to spend time with his friends is another battle, but if Adrien is expected to be amusing himself quietly in his bedroom—as opposed to practicing conversational Mandarin, or attack-parry-riposte-counter—then _getting_ to spend time with his friends is a great deal easier, permission or otherwise.

(Adrien should get hurt more often, he tries not to think. Or at least look endangered. He spotted this pattern a long time ago.)

Going running across the rooftops, Adrien thinks after a late dinner containing real live conversation with his real live father, is really tempting. Like, _really_ tempting. His bedroom, which was specifically designed to feel as bright, airy, and unconfining as possible when the room was repurposed and renovated in the interest of Adrien sleeping ever, is still not the Paris skyline. He stares longingly at his usual exit window, open to admit a breeze that makes vague motions in the direction of lifting the feeling of heavy air, for fifteen minutes before Plagg gets bored and starts demanding Camembert. But Chat Noir's fictitious emergency took him out of Paris no earlier than the akuma attack Saturday afternoon, no later than the one Tuesday evening. Or Monday noon, if they count by when Chat's absence was publicly noticeable, not by when it was publicly acknowledged. Adrien was hospitalized Monday morning.

Adrien hands Plagg a wedge of dubiously edible gym-socks stinkbomb. (Which…has a later best-by date than the last lot of Camembert Adrien remembers putting in the mini fridge. He thinks. Maybe?) Then he frowns at his room a lot, finally concluding the best place is sitting on the floor in front of the sofa. He won't be visible from the door—not that anyone should be opening it, and he considers for a moment before locking it. He isn't supposed to; that said, there are things he does that the adults can't object to but they don't want to know about, and nobody wants anyone to catch Adrien with his pants around his ankles. Better they think he's at it again and therefore knock and wait than they burst in on something _he_ doesn't want them to know about.

More to the point, if Ladybug answers his video call instead of letting it (either because busy or because unmasked) go to voicemail, she won't be able to see anything but Chat Noir sitting on a blandly patterned carpet in front of a plain white sofa. As identifying visual details go, even though Ladybug has personally seen both carpet and sofa, that's marvelously nondescript. He transforms and flops, pulling out his baton and dialing.

To Chat's complete astonishment, Ladybug answers.

One of her pigtails is scrunched up untidily and the ribbon has come off the other one altogether, Chat observes in the glow of her yo-yo screen; her mask hasn't slipped a micron. There's nothing else visible but shadows and—has she draped some sort of cloth over her head? A bedsheet, maybe?

_Ladybug sleeps on pink sheets,_ Chat realizes.

—Why was she ( _is_ she? she's blinking blearily enough Chat isn't convinced she's awake) sleeping in her _armor_?

"Hey, Chat," Ladybug yawns. " 'N akuma?"

"Good Gods, I hope not," Chat answers at once. "Sorry I disappeared on you—"

" 'S fine," Ladybug says with a lazy flap of one hand. "Check mess'ges. Talk t'morrow?"

"—Are you okay, LB?"

"Sleepy." Ladybug pouts. "Hadda stay up 'case you called. Six akuma, no you. _Zǐsè húdié_." She does not spit out the Mandarin syllables with the force typical of especially vicious profanities; with that force and a French accent, she enunciates them clearly, like the fucking lady she is. The phrase means 'purple butterfly', which, well. _Six_. She rarely swears, but this merits it! " 'M fine. Check your phone. Sleep." Her eyes are drifting closed again.

"Ladybug, do you need—"

"Adrien," Ladybug interrupts. " _Sleeping_. Spots off." The call winks out.

Chat stares at the baton screen.

There's a voicemail waiting. " _Welcome back,_ " Ladybug's recorded voice tells him, tired but strong. " _You should be fine by the time you get this, but I don't want to see you, or hear that anyone else has seen you, until Sunday at the earliest, understand? Yes, I'm exhausted, yes, I missed you, and yes, I will absolutely dump your skinny ass off a bridge if anyone finds out you're back in action before Sunday. Rena Rouge and Carapace have it covered. They are regretting their life choices,_ " Ladybug notes, sardonic, " _but they've got my back. And no, you did not get akuma-controlled again, so you can stop worrying about that._ "

Her voice pauses.

" _I'm glad you're back, chaton,_ " she says. " _Whatever else I say, whatever else you hear, I'm really glad you're back._ "

The voicemail ends. There are no other new messages.

"Claws in." Adrien goes to grab Plagg some more Camembert. "What _happened_ while I was out?"

"This and that," Plagg answers, which might mean he can't say, might mean he won't. "You heard her say no transforming till Sunday, right?" He spirals gleefully through the air, landing with a soft thump on Adrien's pillow. "Vacation!"

"Plagg!" snaps Adrien, because apparently the fuzzy little asshole that calls himself Adrien's mentor _does not appreciate the gravity of this moment_. Or its perplexity. "She knows my name. I don't know how she knows my name."

"That really your main concern, kid?"

"No," Adrien says, spinning to stare out the window into the night. "I guess not."

Nino is the likeliest to know what happened, he thinks, grabbing his phone. Except maybe Alya. And his identity _isn't_ plastered all over the Ladyblog, which admits several possibilities, among which is Alya doesn't know. Which means Nino wouldn't either. But he has to _ask_. Someone. And Ladybug is, or anyway had better be, a sleeping civilian right now, snug as a bug in a rug…

> _Model Behavior:_ Did something happen while I was in hospital? Because someone knows something I don't think she knew Monday morning, and I don't know how.

She knows his name.

Who else knows his name?

> _DJ Nino:_ what, that you're crushing on marinette? dude, i don't think YOU knew that monday morning
> 
> _DJ Nino:_ also you told her
> 
> _DJ Nino:_ you sure you're okay? you didn't check out against medical advice, right, the doctors kicked you out?
> 
> _Model Behavior:_ "Kicked me out" is a bit strong. They got bored of me. I am 100%. Save the rest of the story for school tomorrow?
> 
> _DJ Nino:_ 👍🏾

_Who_ is crushing on Marinette? Who told Marinette _what_? No, that's ridiculous. Adrien wants Ladybug. Marinette may want Chat Noir, but Chat Noir will get Ladybug. Anyway, Marinette likes Luka. And Luka likes Marinette, so they just need a little courage, that's all, one to ask and one to accept. Adrien will be happy for her, for them both, as soon as there's anything to be happy for.

And if that's the best Nino's got?

"Plagg," Adrien whispers in astonished joy, because he can _say_ this now, and it's _true_ , and it doesn't seem to be dangerously widely known—and whatever his flaws and shortcomings, its truth has not ended their partnership. "She knows my _name_."

* * *

_Monday, early afternoon_

"Easy there, Adrien," the gentle-voiced nurse was saying, "try to breathe more slowly, we need you to calm down," and it took more effort than Adrien would like to admit to _get_ his breathing under control, his heart rate down, his muscles easing instead of tensed to fight or flee. But if _hospital_ wasn't necessarily the same as _safety_ , at least it meant a lot of people in earshot with a professional interest in his good health. If the voice he'd heard at his bedside matched Gabriel Agreste's voicemail greeting as closely as he thought, then there was someone personally interested here, too, breathing too harshly beside him. And it would do his partner more good if he could give her a more complete picture of the problem, surely. _In she needs me, hold she needs me, out she needs me, in…_

He'd bunched up the bedsheet in both his fists. Carefully he let that go.

"There we are, Adrien, much better." The nurse probably did not mean to sound condescending, Adrien judged, but complaining about it was not top priority. "We need to check exactly how awake you are, so can you open your eyes and look at me?"

Trying stabbed at his brain. Yeah, he would have to get Marinette here somehow; secrecy aside, he was neither getting to her nor texting her for a while. "Nope," Adrien told the nurse. "Too bright."

"I'll mark that as a three," she muttered; it sounded like she was tapping on a tablet or phone. "Okay, let's check your motor response. Please lift your right arm off the bed."

Adrien didn't. "Is that gonna ouch too?"

"It may hurt, yes," the nurse told him. "If it does, let me know."

"All right." He lifted his hand, bent elbow staying on the bed. "I think I'm pulling a bruise there," he noted, dropping the hand again, "but I think moving anything will, right now? It's only a little worse, anyway. Good enough?"

"Very good. And I need to ask you a few questions—I know they may sound insultingly simple, but we don't need to know you can do rocket science; we just need to see how badly your brain got rattled."

"All right," Adrien said again.

"What's your full name?"

"Adrien?" She'd just called him that, so he could certainly admit knowing it. He poked at the blank spot where his middle name belonged, and his mother's name; he knew _Agreste_ but he hadn't before seeing his student ID and it would _suck_ to be caught lying. "Um."

"Mm-hm. Where are you right now?"

"Do you mean like hospital bed or do you mean like Paris?"

"More the first," said the nurse, sounding amused. "What's today's date?"

Probably not the one he remembered it being. "I don't know, how long was I out?" Adrien paused. "Never mind, that won't help. I don't know."

"Can you name the president?"

Yes, but— "I know I know this," Adrien grumbled. "Not the sweet treat. Also not the high tone mark, but that's closer…ugh, okay, do you have internet?"

"My googling the president's name doesn't tell me about what's going on in your head," the nurse observed.

"No, that's—look, google the high tone mark in pinyin and tell me what it's called? 'Straight horizontal line' is accurate but wrong."

A pause. "Oh," said the nurse, sounding surprised. "Yes. That is a macron, the confection is a macaron, and the president is Emmanuel Macron. So you're experiencing a form of aphasia, as well as light sensitivity. Do you know what happened?"

Not in the slightest. "I'm guessing not being kidnapped and tortured," Adrien said, trying to play it like a joke; from the sharp inhale of the other presence, it didn't work. Someone was tapping furiously on their device. He considered how desperately he remembered trying to get away: "Sorry if I hurt anyone."

"No one blames you," the nurse said reassuringly. "And better a few bruises for Nurse Jacques than you staying that deeply unconscious any longer! If we had a few moments' warning that Ladybug was healing you, he probably wouldn't be hurt at all."

"Why not?" asked—yes, that voice was certainly Gabriel Agreste's.

"The paramedics inserted an oropharyngeal airway—" Adrien frowned; precise medical vocabulary wouldn't help him much. "—ah, a device to keep a patient able to breathe without obstruction," the nurse clarified. "Since you were already unconscious when they arrived, Adrien, they chose a device that can only be used on unconscious patients, because when the patient is awake enough, it triggers the gag reflex." Adrien grimaced. "If someone on your care team had gotten even a minute's notice you would wake up when Ladybug's Cure came through, they would have traded that for a device meant for conscious patients. If nothing else, it sounds like you would have woken up less distressed."

"Sounds like," Adrien agreed. Sounded like he needed a technical talk with his Lady, too. Had she known her partner was injured? If not Chat Noir, then Adrien? Or did she just heal people sometimes and not know who she was healing? Or that she was? "But I guess you meant, do I know what happened before that."

"That's correct."

Adrien thought about that. "Head injury?" he ventured. The neck restraint he remembered wasn't there— "Neck too, maybe, but that got better? Um, symptoms—out cold, horrible headache, fried sensory input, stirred language output—agh, no. Not stirred, the other one. Cooking eggs."

"Scrambled?" the nurse provided.

He held up his fist in a grateful thumbs up. "And total blank on, um." Ugh, how to explain this? "Obviously I know things, but not, not—I can't name my friends," he told them, and if the reason was different for Marinette, Plagg (still curled up in his ribcage), and Tikki than anyone else, that didn't make the realization any less terrifying. There might be a hundred contacts in his phone, but who were they to him? Who _mattered_ to him? Who did _he_ matter to? "I can't name my favorite movie. I can't name my _parents_!"

It _hadn't_ mattered, in that office building with Marinette, what would happen if they tried to live like that. Ladybug would defeat Oblivio and heal the damage; Mme. Cheng hadn't seemed to think that was in question, and Adrien hadn't let himself think anything else too loudly. Any long-term impact, or immediate impact that wasn't _I love this girl_ and its corollary _I won't let her fight alone_? Could _wait_.

But now?

_Hospital_ didn't mean _safety_ , but if he had to show a weak spot, there were worse places to be. And the racking sobs left him little choice, anyway.

"My name is Gabriel Agreste," said the man waiting with him, when Adrien had fought most of the way back to calm: it was a sad, soft sound, that fit poorly with the cold, stern intonation of everything else Adrien had heard from him. It sounded like the nurse had left. "I am your father."

Adrien turned his head toward him and opened his eyes: a painful mistake, quickly corrected. "Hi, Papa," he managed. He was probably too old for this but he really didn't care right now: "I want a hug."

"I was warned against aggravating your injuries." His tone seemed cautionary. Disapproving?

Adrien flexed his right hand, which didn't hurt, and lifted it, which didn't hurt much. "No hand injuries," he pointed out. "That work?"

A moment. Another. And Adrien's father took his hand.

Adrien held his grip, letting this bitter exultation flow over him, sticky-sweet as warm honey.


	3. rendezvous

_Friday, morning_

Adrien gets out of the car in front of the school, in rain almost too light to want an umbrella, and is promptly mobbed.

"I don't remember anything since Monday morning," he has to tell his classmates several times, trying to figure out how to get out of the crowd without it looking like he's trying to get out of the crowd. "I have no idea what happened. —Besides confusing all the doctors," he has to add. "I definitely heard Dr. Olayinka say something about trying to bribe Ladybug into going to medical school."

Chloé goes scarlet, utterly refuses to explain why, and stalks off. Adrien is mildly comforted by how nobody else seems to know what's going on there either.

"Tell me what I missed," Adrien invites, desperate for a change of subject. Rose, at least, picks up on that, judging by the reassuring smile she gives him before launching into a recap of an argument she and Ivan are having about the lyrics for the duet they're trying to co-write.

Kim follows that by describing his triumphant victory in a foot race against Alix on roller blades; Alix promptly calls him a lying liar who lies, and while they wrestle over it, Max sidles up beside Adrien: "Lila's really upset over something you said in the hospital," he says. "I think you should apologize."

"…what did I say?" Adrien asks. "Do I even want to know?"

Because of course Lila would take his blank memory as a blank check. Hospital visitor records probably _would_ confirm she visited him, and if no one else was visiting right then, or paying attention from the nurse station or the next bed…

"Adrien!" exclaims Alya, jogging up to the group. A dark gray blazer too small for her is draped over what looks like a tray of to-go drink cups in her hands—coffee, from the smell of the rising steam—and her overshirt has two more buttons done up than usual; she's clearly tried to apply concealer (not quite the right shade, and with an unpracticed hand), which kind of only makes her look _more_ like she's going to spend half the morning napping on Marinette's shoulder. "Glad you're back on your feet! Hey, _Nino_!" Alya calls down the block. "The sunshine came out!"

" _Little darling,_ " carol two voices in unison, and Adrien turns: Nino, who looks kind of worn through himself, is carrying a half-asleep and blazer-less Marinette piggy-back. She's hanging on to a big black umbrella, for all the good it does closed, and they're both singing " _it's been a long cold lonely winter—_ "

It's been three days, and it's March. "Yeah, I'm right as rain," Adrien tells them, grinning. Nino flips him the bird; Marinette laughs.

"Gotta tell you both, that is not the song I expected," Alya adds, as she and Nino bull their way through the crowd to escort Adrien up the steps. "I was thinking more _I don't want you back for the weekend_ —"

Marinette pries her eyes open far enough to visibly roll them.

Adrien recognizes the song after a moment—Alya is not a great singer, but it's one Maman liked—but he can't remember the rest, or even the title. Not important, he decides. "Did you three sleep at any point this week?"

"Has it only been a week?" Alya asks wistfully.

Nino snorts. "Dude, it hasn't even been three days."

"Four," mumbles Marinette. "Hasn't _four_ days. Adrie-e-e—" She finishes yawning. "Somethin' somethin' world of rain."

Adrien grins over at her. He knew Marinette appreciates puns, but he thinks this might be the first time he's heard her make one. He doesn't even care that it's at his expense.

"Right," Alya says. "You told Nino last night you're one hundred percent—is that true?" Adrien nods. "Okay then, sunshine!" Alya replies, brightly enough he has to wonder if she's punning too. "Hold still a moment."

"Huh?" says Adrien, pausing.

"I believe this is yours," says Nino.

Adrien staggers under the weight of—oh, it's Marinette, he realizes; is it creepy that he recognizes the pattern of freckles on her arms, or the lavender-rose scent of her soap? It's Adrien's turn to carry her, apparently, and she's heavier than she looks. He can handle her weight, no trouble (well, more trouble than he's had carrying her as Chat Noir, but not a statistically significant amount of trouble), he just has to interlock his fingers and—

Hey, wait a minute.

"Who the what now?" Adrien asks. He can hear Plagg sniggering from his usual perch, which helps nothing whatsoever.

"Yeah, you two need to talk," Alya tells him.

"N'now," Marinette grumbles, and drops her head against his neck. "You 'least check your mess'ges?"

"I haven't caught up on everyone's texts," Adrien says truthfully, shifting his arms to brace her more securely, "but I'm up to date on yours."

It is possible he has been relistening to Ladybug's voicemail instead of reading texts from classmates who aren't his closest friends—if he can even _call_ Marinette his friend; _he_ can list her with Nino, Kagami, and Chloé all he likes, but what does _she_ feel about—

"Yeah, you missed somethin'," Marinette tells his shoulder.

—Nino texted Adrien last night to say _you're crushing on Marinette_. Something Nino didn't think Adrien knew Monday morning. Something Nino says _Adrien told Marinette_.

Something Nino seemed worried that Adrien didn't know.

"Uh, so I don't think you heard this yet," Adrien says slowly, keeping his voice low—that's unmistakably Lila's favorite vermilion jacket he's seeing out of the corner of one eye, under a burnt-orange umbrella. "I don't—remember anything. Marinette tripped—or was tripped," he has to add for honesty's sake; he can't prove Lila did more than be too close for comfort and therefore he's not about to accuse her. "—and that was what, Monday 10h30? And then I woke up in a panic about 3h30 Thursday. There's nothing in between."

Nino groans and tucks Marinette's closed umbrella under one arm in order to dig out his wallet and stuff a crumpled €20 note in Alya's jeans pocket.

"Class," mumbles Marinette. "Check phone—" Adrien doesn't quite catch the next word: 'minute' maybe? "— _real_ this time. Talk lunch?"

"If everybody's still awake by then," mutters Alya. "Come on, the sooner we get to our desks, the sooner we can chug our coffee." She eyes Marinette. "Or nap on Adrien, I don't even care."

"…Yeah, that's not happening."

It is not that Adrien objects to the prospect of cuddling with Marinette. In fact, modulo the crush he reportedly has on her, it's a scarily appealing idea! But the classroom is a bad place to cuddle with anyone—or at least it is for him; he knows Marinette has fallen asleep on Alya before and sometimes the teachers have been kind enough not to notice—and if she, Nino, and Alya are this worn out just from worrying over Adrien, then what sort of state must Rena Rouge and Carapace be in, with the past couple days' unexpected weight of the city on their backs?

How badly off is Ladybug?

Marinette makes a low unhappy sound.

"Dude," says Nino, shaking his head.

"Could someone just tell me what I _missed_?" Adrien begs.

"Lunch," Alya repeats.

Just ahead of them under the overhang, Lila snaps her umbrella shut and shakes it, droplets flying. Marinette is mostly shielded by Adrien's body, and it isn't like they aren't all damp already, but Lila was watching them as she did it. She doesn't quite pivot away to storm inside quickly enough to hide the venom in her eyes.

* * *

_Monday, midafternoon_

Adrien would be entirely fine with being a research subject for the effects of Ladybug's Miraculous Cure on traumatic brain injury. He _would_. If he didn't need three minutes alone with Plagg so badly. Not that Father forbidding Adrien be researched on had made getting that time any more likely, he thought sourly, listening to three more fascinated medical professionals argue over his chart without, apparently, remembering they were standing _right next to their lost and confused patient_. Nurse Irène, whom he'd talked to on waking, had come up with a blindfold-like thing while Nurse Jacques, whom he'd kicked earlier, rolled him out of emergency "to make way for _critical_ patients," and Adrien's eyes were grateful but it meant he couldn't even glare at them!

"Adrien, I'm back," said Nurse Irène, which startled the other three into silence Adrien didn't think he would be likely to get without causing a scene. "Are you experiencing any nausea?"

"A little?" Adrien answered. Plagg wriggled inside his ribcage, which might suggest Plagg had something he wanted to say? And it was probably obvious what, too. "When did I eat last, though? I might just be hungry?"

"No later than 10h30, certainly," Nurse Irène observed. "I apologize, Adrien, we all seem to have forgotten in the excitement. I'm going to bring you a protein shake; would you prefer chocolate or vanilla?"

"No—oh _augh_ —um, surprise me?" She made an affirmative noise. "The word isn't 'idiot'," Adrien grumbled, hearing her walk off, "and it definitely isn't 'light bulb'…"

"Do not strain yourself, Adrien," said Father, the first words Adrien had heard him say since asking after Maman, except for excusing himself to the restroom and letting Adrien know he'd returned. "If I correctly understand these doctors, the cognitive effects will clear up within three days."

"I admire your confidence, M. Agreste," snapped one of the doctors. "I said the remaining effects _may_ diminish quickly without further assistance. And while naturally we would all prefer it if Paris were _not_ under constant attack by that vicious purple dramatist, it remains true that Hawkmoth will most likely send the next akuma within three days."

—That was interesting.

"This will most likely end with Ladybug employing Miraculous Cure," the doctor continued, "and it is certainly possible that Adrien will again benefit from its effects. By my count, that is four 'if' statements. We have every hope for Adrien's full recovery, but you _cannot_ tell him everything will be better by Friday, because that is _probably not true_."

"I see," said Father, cold and stern once more.

"And let me tell you something, M. Agreste," continued the doctor. "If that were _my_ child in that bed with a _moderate_ traumatic brain injury, five hours after he suffered a _severe_ enough TBI that he almost died _twice_ before reaching this hospital? Yes, I would be praying for some more miracle. I am a woman of prayer and a mother, and this is Ladybug's city; of course I would. But I would also be thanking God, Ladybug, and each individual person who has had care of that young man today for the miracle I _got_. And trying to decide which of Ladybug's favorite charities to support for the rest of my life, because I believe in giving back, M. Agreste. And the fact your son is awake and coherent right now is something you should be _overjoyed_ by, even if that is all the miracle you get!"

"I am an atheist," Father told her, beginning to sound angry.

Really, _that_ was the part he was stuck on? "So skip the praying part?" Adrien suggested.

"He's already leaving," the doctor told him. "My apologies, Adrien."

"No, I—thank you, Doctor—"

"Dr. Thérèse Olayinka. He is right on one thing, though," she said more cheerfully. "Don't strain yourself. We have no idea what all of the effects Ladybug had on you even _are_ —" Well, she got that right. "—and it's safer for you to take everything slow."

Adrien gave her a thumbs up. Then swallowed. "I almost what?"

"You didn't," Dr. Olayinka reassured him. "Try not to worry about that, please? Focus on getting better, not on how things could have been worse."

"All right," Adrien said, trying to smile—then stilled, listening: across the bay, someone had said his name.

Father's voice was distinct enough, though as distant and quiet: "My son is not permitted visitors outside the family." Adrien couldn't make out the response. "Yes, I remember you," Father replied. "Very well; come along."

"Adrien," said Nurse Irène, which didn't startle him, exactly. "Here's your protein shake; it's a screw-top spout, let's see if you can manage that unassisted."

"Thanks," Adrien told her, feeling for the pouch. "Can my friends visit?"

"Of course," she said, sounding surprised. "No more than two visitors at a time, to avoid crowding."

"Okay." And there was the screw top. "What happened to anything I was carrying? Wallet, phone, jewelry? Uh, could you get this seal off?"

One of Nurse Irène's hands held the pouch still, without taking it from him, and he heard something tear. "That's all in a locker, for when you want it back. There, ready to drink."

He nodded. "Thank you. I want it back, please." Now could he actually get the protein shake in his mouth without spilling, or had he rattled those bits, too?

"Adrien," said Father, "your girlfriend is here."

Was she? Awesome, that saved calling her when he got his phone back. He put the pouch back down. "Isn't it still school hours?" he asked, smiling in what sounded like her direction. Nothing could brighten this day, he suspected, better than the sound of Marinette's voice.

"I couldn't wait to see you," she said sweetly, and Adrien felt his face freeze: that was _not Marinette_.

Of course it wasn't. Foolish of him to think for even a moment that it could be. Ladybug and Chat Noir hadn't known each other's names. They might never have _met_ outside their masks.

"I'll leave you two alone, son," Father told him, squeezing his shoulder.

No, they must have met, right? They had each other in their contacts—

"I'm glad you came," Adrien told the girl, which was true enough. "I hope someone warned you I woke up and I didn't remember my own name, or my father's. And I don't know yours."

"Oh," said the girl. "I'm Lila. Lila Rossi."

"Charmed," said Adrien, smiling in a way he knew—from experience?—would look real enough; he hoped he wasn't about to break her heart.

He got the protein shake to his face without much incident. It tasted like chocolate chalk.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Dreamwidth](https://alexseanchai.dreamwidth.org/) and [Tumblr](http://alexseanchai.tumblr.com/).


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